


Storm In Our Minds

by Underestimated_amateur



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Little Comfort, M/M, Mean Chants, Short One Shot, The Crowd Can Be A Bitch Sometimes, a very sad blowjob, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:06:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underestimated_amateur/pseuds/Underestimated_amateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You like staring at my cock Cena?" </p><p>Baby blue eyes flash up at him, coming back to earth, to them. He wasn't staring, not really, but responds anyways, "Yeah, I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm In Our Minds

They always find their way to the bed. 

Sometimes it takes awhile between sucking lips and scraping teeth at the doorway. Sometimes they take a few a good moments to slam each other into the walls and grind against each other like they're sex-crazed teenagers all over again. They occasionally make a pit-stop at the couch if they're not in some weekly hotel room. 

The point is they always do make it to bed. They kiss, suck, grope, grind, bite, and leave a clothing trail in their wake before they fall onto the sheets. Clothing is long forgotten along with shame and homophobic slurs of the world around them. Everything but the two of them fades in a hot blurry mess. It's intoxicating in the best and worst ways and they both love it. Love how they feed off each other in the most raw, dangerous, and wonderfully crazy way. Neither would ever admit it. They keep it locked inside; a secret to take to both their graves.

 

'He's off tonight.' Randy thinks as he nips at the other's shoulder, leaving a small red mark that'll fade before they split in the morning. Despite how they act, they know each other. They have a feel for each other. Something is upsetting him, Randy knows, but he also knows they won't talk about it. 

They don't need to anyway, Randy already knows. 

John's above him, sliding down to give him a blowjob. He's on top for now, but Randy knows he's getting that ass tonight. A sad John is a I'll-let-you-fuck-my-brains-out John. The golden hearted white boy is just about to suck his cock, when suddenly he stops. Lips parted thoughtful and eyes hazed over with emotions. Randy bites down hard on his lip to stop a frustrated groan because for FUCK'S SAKE CENA. Instead he sighs, looking down at the other man. He puts on a smirk.

"You like staring at my cock Cena?" 

He's not, staring at his dick that is. Not really. Randy knows that far away look; the kind that dulls a person's eyes and shuts their mouth, but their mind goes into overdrive with too many voices. He's thinking too much. Randy doesn't like that, doesn't like that look on him either, but isn't completely sure how to fix it. But he knows he can be a hell of a distraction. Because he knows how to rile this man up, knows how to stir something in him and bring back that fire he knows is still there.

Because dammit, HE is the one that's supposed to hear voices inside his head here. 

Baby blue eyes flash up at him, coming back to earth, to them. He wasn't staring, not really, but responds anyways, "Yeah, I do."

"How about you do more than stare then."

There's a small silence, and Randy knows he's going back into the dark corners of his mind again. So he reaches out and places hand on the other's short, blonde, soft locks. A reminder of where they are, an anchor to keep him grounded. "Suck, Cena." He says quietly. 

And John does just that. He takes him into his mouth, his pink lips wrapped around the tan flesh. 

Randy thinks he looks good like that. He already runs around sucking everyone's dick, he might as well do it literally for once in a while. Like this, John is an open book to him without even trying to be. He can see it on his face. The chanting, 'Cena sucks, Cena sucks, Cena sucks', the mockery and ridicule, the pure hatred from fans and others is rattling around inside his head and it's plain to see that, it's written all over his face. 

Cena does suck, but in a different sense then they think, he muses, lips curling in a soft smirk again. He's good at brushing the words off the moment he hears them, but Randy knows they stay with him. The words stay in the back of his mind, waiting to kick him while he's down like salt to a bloody fucking wound. He remembers other chants worse than the famous, 'Lets go Cena, Cena sucks.'

 

He still can hear, 'You can't wrestle.'

 

Or 'Same old shit.'

 

'Asshole.'

 

'Fuck you Cena.'

 

'You're a loser.'

 

'We all hate you.'

 

'Die Cena die' is the one he remembers the most clearly.

 

He comes back to himself then, focusing on the lips around his dick. A sad John is also a quiet John, which is a blessing and unnerving displeasure all at once. He's not sure what to do with a silent John, one that's not spouting out some self-righteous crap or waving a hand in front of your face, saying that stupid catch phrase that got too old too fast. 

He gasps when he feels a hot tongue swirl around his dick head. He curses, pressing down of John's head. If it were any other day, the man wouldn't be controled so easily. But it's not any other day, so John swallows his penis whole, only slightly gagging on it at first. Randy groans, throws his head back into the pillows, and just lets him go at it. 

He lets himself enjoy the feeling of being inside John's warm mouth and the back of his throat. He at least does the other a favor and not buck his hips. It's not necessary, because he doesn't have to fuck his mouth, because a few minutes later he's blowing his load anyways, without warning and right in the older man's mouth. And John swallows it all, ironically just like another chant says he does. 

While he's relaxing in the after bliss John crawls upward and lays down next to him, his front pressed against his back. He feels the other's erection poking him, but the man doesn't ask for any help so he doesn't give him any. He then feels John wrap his arms around him, holding him close. Like he's something precious. Like he's some treasure. Like he's some GIRL. It's ridiculess, completely so, but he doesn't push the other away. He doesn't flip the other over and get the decent fuck he came here for. He doesn't grab his clothes and leave. Doesn't even tell him to go to hell. 

He still thinks the man's a hypocrite and an annoying jackass. He still agrees with some of the things that's said about him. 

But maybe, he thinks, underneath all of his colors and armor and all the words that spew out of his mouth like 'honor, faith, integrity, respect, hustle, loyalty', maybe there is a man who just wants to do the right thing. Maybe there's a boy who wants to be respected himself. Maybe there's a soul who just wants to make people smile. 

Randy frowns when a noise interrupts his own train of thoughts and he looks over his shoulder at the man beside him. 

Or maybe he's a heavy oath who obnoxious snores in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping.  
> I grew up with WWE and John Cena has always been my favorite and I know I'll probably always get hate for that, but I don't care. Anyways, there needs to be more Centon out there! 
> 
> (AN: I went back and fixed my mistakes. Please let me know your thoughts.)


End file.
